


The Hound and The Harvest Mouse

by Boring_And_Obvious



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boring_And_Obvious/pseuds/Boring_And_Obvious
Summary: "Sandor Clegane had only ever called her by the nickname the commoners had given her, 'Little Mouse'. Surely he did not love her. For what is a harvest mouse to a hound, if not vermin. And what is she to a man like Sandor, if he sees her as vermin?"Yessa Stark is the eldest Stark daughter, and endlessly fascinated by the Hound.Her fascination grows into toleration, and toleration into love.Sandor Clegane is a broken man with a broken heart. He did not expect to ever feel love again. Yet here he is, feeling like a bloody teenager over a Lady he can never have.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. She prepares

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, thank you for reading my story.  
> Before you start, here are some things you should know:
> 
> 1) I am not sure where I will end up with this story as I have written a couple of chapters in a flurry. I hope there will be some interest in my story. If there is, I will be sure to finish this story as quickly as I can. So be sure to leave a comment or kudos! :)
> 
> 2) I have changed the ages of Sandor and Robb a little bit.  
> Instead of 17, Robb is now 19. I had to change this so my character's age would be more appropriate for the pairing.  
> Sandor's age has been changed from the TV show's 35 to the book's 27.  
> I am not much of a fan of large age gap couples and felt more comfortable writing the story this way. 
> 
> The rest of the story will be canon-compliant.

It was a cold and windy day in the North when King Robert and his entourage arrived. Though to be fair, every day was cold and windy. Yessa Stark had never been one for the cold, her twin brother Robb had oftentimes teased her for her never-ending shivering. They had been born together, Robb only a minute or two before her, and had been inseparable ever since. 

In the morning, Yessa had been awoken by her handmaidens. She had risen and bathed, put on her finest gown at her mother's request, and had sat at her vanity as her handmaidens braided traditional northern braids into her hair. Yessa stared hard at her own face, evaluating what people saw as they looked at her. 

At 19 she had now shed her baby weight, and the bone structure revealed underneath was remarkable. Her high cheekbones and sharp jawline were striking, that she had to admit to herself. Her ears were small and pointy. Her delicate nose had grown with her father's curve down, yet it pointed up at the tip. A wee smile played at the corners of her pink plump lips, she knew what animal her side profile resembled. The commoners had began calling her by it behind her back. Robb had hated the nickname when he first heard it, but Yessa knew they spoke about her with nothing but love when they called her 'the Harvest Mouse'.  
It did not help that her hair was the same color as her father's, the color of a harvest mouse's hide. It was light walnut brown and fell in messy waves to the small of her back.

She arched her dark, long, and thick eyebrows as she reviewed her handmaidens' braid work. Her eyes searching for any flaws or stray hairs, as she knew her mother had a critical eye when it came to her appearance. Though no matter how tightly her hair was braided, the stubborn waves would always find a way to escape and frame her face in messy bangs. Her father would always scoff in response and say, “With eyes like that, no one will be looking at your hair, girl.”  
Yessa had always been proud of her eyes. They were a light green, like the yellow sun's light when it shines through spring leaves, with a dark green ring surrounding the iris. No northerner had eyes like hers. They were her one unique attribute. 

After she deemed her appearance suitable, she made her way downstairs to the breakfast table.

“Yessa!”  
A voice called, she turned round and smiled. “My dear brother Robb, did no one tell you it is impolite to sneak up on a lady?”  
Robb only grinned down at her in response and put his arm over her shoulder. Though even he was not the tallest, he still towered 8 inches over her. It had been the great big laugh of the Stark family: the eldest daughter being no taller than the youngest (who was still growing mind you!) No, at 5 feet and 2 inches, Yessa was only a little lady. 

“Come on my little sister, we will be late for breakfast.” Robb's voice was filled with love and warmth, they'd been best friends since they both could remember. In their early childhood days they'd vehemently denied ever wanting to get married, “Why would I share my life with somebody who I barely know, when I can spend it with the person I was born alongside?” Yessa had cried to her father when he first mentioned marriage to her 7 years ago. 

She knew better now, one day she'd have to be a wife. If not for love, then it was for the good of her House that she'd be wed. It was only in the darkest nights, deeply tucked away under her heavy blankets, that she'd fantasize about a tall and mysterious man who'd whisk her away and show her love and passion like she'd never felt before. 

She'd never loved, no man had ever dare approach her. She did not know if it were out of fear of her father, or whether they just did not find her appealing. Her handmaidens had told her about their adventures in the hay with the stable boys. Yessa could only dream of such passion. 

Though it was forbidden for her to sully her innocence before marriage, she could fantasize all she wanted. And fantasize she did. 

After breakfast they all piled into the courtyard, Yessa saw the commoners push each other out the way to stand in front and hopefully catch a glimpse of the royal family. She herself stood in between her brother Robb and her sister Sansa, though she hardly stuck out between them. Her beautiful little sister was a whole head taller than her. 

“Where is mother? She must hurry or she will miss the king's arrival!” Sansa asked her sister in an anxious little voice. 

“Not to worry, little one.” Yessa replied reassuringly, “Mother would not miss the arrival of the king for the world. You know how much she values appearances. Look, Bran and Arya are not here, she must've gone to find them.” Even though Yessa was much shorter, she could still comfort her little sister as she'd done when Sansa she was only little. Sansa sighed and and gave her sister a strained smile. Yessa smiled a big grin back. 

Before the little mouse could say anything more to her little sister, Bran ran by. 

“Where have you been?” Robb asked him with an amused smile. “Climbing, I saw the king! They're coming!” Bran replied excitedly.  
Yessa giggled, “Did mother catch you?” Bran had the decency to look slightly ashamed, “Yes, she did.” Robb and Yessa shared a knowing look, their mother must've given him a proper scolding. 

“Where is Arya?” Lady Cat looked around herself as she walked up to her family, before turning to her daughters, “Yessa, Sansa, where is your sister?”  
Yessa squeaked, “I thought you had her!” as Sansa just shrugged. 

Luckily, as the first knights rode in, the tiniest knight Yessa had ever seen came running up to them. “Hey, hey, hey!” Ned exclaimed, “What are you doing with that on?” He took the helmet off the tiny knight, and revealed Arya's face. Yessa could feel Robb's arms shaking next to her as he tried to suppress his laughter.  
As Arya moved past her siblings, Yessa bend to her ear and whispered, “You will make a fine warrior one day, better than these lame boys.” She nodded to Robb. Arya grinned at her and moved to stand beside Sansa, pushing Bran out of the way, “Move!”

The first riders rode in, with a member of the Kingsguard at the front. Then a boy, who Yessa recognized as the crown prince himself. She heard a dreamy sigh coming from her right, and looked over to find Sansa staring at the boy as if he was a fresh drink of water in the great plains of the Red Waste. Yessa raised her eyebrows in disgust at her sister, “Eugh...” and noticed Robb glaring daggers into the poor boy's skull. 

Then another caught her eye, a big man in dark armor with a hounds head helmet. His horse was bigger than the others, probably because a smaller horse had not been able to hold a man his size. 

She let her eyes travel along the intricate lines of his armor as the three riders came to a stop in front of her and her family. Her heart skipped a beat and a shudder run down her back as she noticed the big sword strapped to the man's back. It must be three quarters of her height, and judging by its aged looking handle it must've cut many a man down.  
'A big man needs a big sword, I suppose', she thought to herself. Yet still could not keep her eyes from him as the rest of king Robbert's entourage rode into the courtyard. 

The man with the hound helmet was looking her in the eye, she just knew it. And as if to confirm her suspicions, the man lifted his helmet with one large gloved hand. 

Their eyes met.


	2. He Prepares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor prepares to arrive in Winterfell, and lays eyes upon the Harvest Mouse for the first time.

Sandor was going to kill the little cunt. 

Not literally, of course. The king would have his head on a spike faster than he could bring the blade down on the prince's scrawny neck. But by the gods, how he dreamed of shutting the cunt up. Joffrey had been yapping at him constantly, the past month had been hell. Not just that, his steel armor made him feel even colder in the freezing weather. The little cunt sat in his mother's carriage whenever the cold got the better of him, and all Sandor could do was sit on his horse and suppress his shivering. 

They were currently riding, Sandor besides the boy he'd been sworn to protect.   
“Father says he shall see me wedded to the second Stark daughter, the first is way too old. Some say the oldest sister resembles a mouse. She must be terribly ugly to be compared to vermin.” Joffrey mused aloud. “Father will only see me wedded to the most beautiful woman he can find. That is what I deserve as future king, you know?”  
Sandor grunted, wishing the little brat would shut his stupid fucking pie hole. Joffrey nodded, and continued, “Only the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms will do, Father said so. And her father must have power and influence, and...” Sandor tuned out the rest of the cocky prince's rant. He did not want to be part of this child's ramblings and obsession for power. However, the next question caught him by surprise. 

“Why have you never married, Hound?” the voice beside him drawled. Sandor grunted but did not answer, his hands clenching tightly around the reins of his horse. “Oi,” the prince exclaimed, “Your prince asked you a question!”   
Sandor glanced over at the smug face of Joffrey riding besides him, yet still remained silent.   
Joffrey narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but perked up with a smug smirk on his face. “I know why!” Sandor recognized the prince's tone, and steeled himself for whatever taunt came next. 

“It is because no matter where you go, no matter how much you pay, women everywhere are utterly repulsed by you! Tell me Hound, have you ever bedded a woman who was not paid for the deed after? Or did even the ones who got paid run screaming before the act?”  
Joffrey's voice was cheery, as if he spoke about the weather. However, Sandor knew the little prick was fully aware of how his words cut. 

Before he could react however, the large gray castle of Winterfell came into view. Sandor felt relief wash over his shoulders as he realized he'd be able to escape the prince soon. At least in King's Landing Sandor had his own chambers to hide in when need be. Joffrey had no one to bully but Sandor on the road, but in Winterfell his attentions would hopefully be turned elsewhere. 

As they rode up the big gates of Winterfell, Sandor grabbed his helmet that had been strapped onto the saddle behind him. He slid the cold steel over his head. 

Jamie rode in front, the villagers waving at him and Joffrey fervently. Sandor did not wave, did not know if the waves were even directed at him. Not keen on finding out, he kept his gaze steadily on the boy's back in front of him. He was his sworn protector after all. 

Sandor's gut still churned with Joffrey's words from earlier. While he did not care for female companionship, he had learned to live without, the future King's words had stung like salt in an open wound. He had tried to pay whores many a times, yet even that had proven disastrous...  
Sandor breathed through his nose once, twice, and then decided to put these memories and thoughts away. Behind a very thick door in his mind. With the biggest possible lock on it. 

They rode through the final gates of the courtyard. Here the villagers had all gathered to come and see them, like they were some fucking circus parade. Sandor hated crowds, hated eyes on him. Hopefully soon he could find himself a big barrel of ale and drink until he forgot who he was. 

He scanned the crowd with his eyes as his horse came to a stop next to Joffrey's, looking for any type of threat from which the royal family needed protecting. He seriously doubted any harm would come to them here, but better safe than sorry. 

When Sandor deemed the crowds gathered to be friendly, he brought his hand up to raise his helmet. As the cold steel was pushed back from his face, his eyes fell on the Stark family. 

Sandor felt his mouth go dry and his stomach drop. The thumping of his heart became unsteady and loud in his ears. 

Seven Hells... 

There she stood, a woman of whom he'd only heard being mentioned as an afterthought. The little Mouse of Winterfell. And she was staring right at him. 

Sandor felt as if he was trapped in her gaze, even from the distance he currently sat on his horse. Their eye contact must've only lasted a second, but it felt to him like a lifetime. By the Gods, he'd never seen a more innocent little thing. Her bottom lip had been caught between her teeth, but now that their eyes had properly met she smiled. A gentle, shy smile that made his knees feel weaker than any battle could've ever done. His own lips parted slightly, unsure and unable to react. All he knew was that he wanted to stay in this sweet moment forever. 

And then the spell was lifted, as their eyes broke contact. The Stark family bowed to King Robert as he stumbled off his horse. 

Seven Hells, what was that? Sandor had never felt like that before. Perhaps he was sick? He would not be surprised, the cold was taking a toll on his bones. Then again, a sickness brought on by the mere sight of a woman seemed a bit unbelievable. Besides, a sickness would not cause his eyes to be unable to leave said woman. 

As the King began bantering with the Starks, Sandor took his time to admire the eldest Stark girl. Her cloak was a beautiful dark blue like the night sky, and the wolf pelt collar a dark brown. Her hair was long, even in the braids she wore, and fell in messy strands around her face. 

“Yessa! You're a delicate little thing, aren't ya? You haven't grown a bit since I last saw you.” King Robert said to her as he greeted each Stark child. Sandor had to admit, he'd never seen a grown Lady as delicate and petite as her. Everything about her seemed so... small. Not small like Tyrion, no. She was not malformed.   
Instead she looked well fed, strong, and healthy. And even under the cloak, he could see she had all the attributes of a beautiful woman...

Immediately as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a stab of guilt in his gut. If only she knew he'd been admiring her curves from afar. She'd be disgusted. Perhaps she'd tell her father, who would behead an ugly dog like him in a second for looking at his daughter.   
'A Lady like that should not be deviled by fantasies,' he thought to himself. Yet even as he tried to shake the stubborn thoughts from his mind, he could not help but wonder what her skin looked like underneath those heavy clothes. 

Sandor felt dirty. 

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respect.” King Roberts voice cut through Sandor's perverse thoughts like a hot knife through butter. Ned and the King walked off, leaving their wives and children in the courtyard. 

The next couple of hours went by quicker than Sandor would've liked. The royal family had been pointed to their rooms, as he's stayed behind and helped the servants unpack the carriages. Though the little Mouse had not strayed from his thoughts once. Her green eyes had burned themselves into his mind. 

“Hound, you're to come with me to the Feast tonight.” That was the first thing Joffrey had said when Sandor had walked into the prince's chambers. “You are to protect me, and perhaps you get to enjoy yourself a bit as well. But only if you're a good dog.” The prince's eyes twinkled as he made his taunts. 

“Yes, your grace.”

A smug look appeared on Joffrey's face, “Marvelous. You should start making yourself presentable. I wouldn't want my dog to embarrass me in front of my future wife.”   
By the Gods, how Sandor wished he could just lug the little prick right out the window. 

Sandor just lowered his head in a terrible excuse for a bow, and made his way to his own chambers. If you could even call it that. His 'chambers' were more of a walk-in closet than anything else, but it would do for now. 

Joffrey's chambers had been lush; a big bed with layers of furs and blankets in the middle, a desk against the wall, and a nice bathtub in the corner next to the window. Sandor's chambers... well... He had a bed and plenty of furs, though it was small. His feet would surely hang off the end. No desk, and no bathtub either. 

He stuck his head out the door and asked a servant girl to fetch him a bucket of hot water. As he waited, he undid the clasps and drawstrings on his armor. It was always a challenge putting it on and taking it off alone, though a necessity as he did not want anyone so near. 

A knock on the door let him know the servant girl was back. He gratefully accepted the bucket and rag. This would do for now to get him clean. 

He was not fixing himself up for Joffrey however. He'd never admit it out loud, but for some reason he wanted the little Lady to be pleased with his looks. He hoped she'd look upon him and feel not repulsion, like so many women before her, but appeal.   
Annoyed, he shook his head. No way in the Seven Kingdoms was a sweet little thing like her going to look upon him and be attracted by what she saw. Sandor scoffed at himself, thoughts like that were reserved for Lords and Sers, not dogs. 

Sandor sat down next to the bucket. He'd stripped down to just his trousers as he wet the rag in the hot water and dragged it over his face. It came away dirty and brown, he'd taken the entire bleedin' Kingsroad with him! As he cleaned himself, the water became darker and murkier. Sandor liked to clean himself, it made him feel like he washed the sins of the day off and could start anew. It was his moment of peace. 

'Thump... Thump'

Two soft knocks sounded at the door. 

Sandor, who'd just been washing the dirt out of his hair, looked up in annoyance. Who could that possibly be? The entire fucking castle was running around, getting the Feast ready. He'd thought he'd finally have some precious time to himself while Joffrey was preparing. “I'm busy!” 

There was a pause on the other side of the door, and then the knocks came softly again. 

The Hound got up off the floor with a grunt and shrugged his white blouse back on. It was dirty and stained, but it'd have to do for now. He did not bother buttoning it.

He nearly ripped the door off its hinges with the force he opened it with.   
“When a man says he's busy, he means he's bu-...” The sentence trailed off as he saw who stood on the other side.


End file.
